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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23325538">Plot Bunnies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/westyellowgroom/pseuds/westyellowgroom'>westyellowgroom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Multi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:29:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23325538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/westyellowgroom/pseuds/westyellowgroom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I groom dogs for a living, I don’t have to think too much about my job, my mind wanders and comes up with ideas. Some ideas I jot down, others I throw away as the horrid detritus it deserved to be treated as. Lately, while stuck at home I’ve been cleaning. The house is now spotless, so the word documents were the next step.</p><p>This is a collection of ideas I’ve jotted down over the last couple years and have no idea on how to continue them. If you wish to expand one or more be my guest. I may add to this in the future...</p><p>Please let me know if you have used a 'bunny' though as I would love to read it!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Watson/Mary Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson/Molly Hooper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Plot 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Note: Rosie asks Sherlock about her mom.</p><p> </p><p>“Papa? Are you my Mommy?”</p><p>“No Bee, I’m not your mommy.”</p><p>“Do I have a mommy? Veronica at my preschool says I can’t have a real family without a mommy.“</p><p>“You had a mommy. She loved you and your Daddy very much.”</p><p>“Where is she?”</p><p>“She, um…”</p><p>“Died.” Neither of them had heard John come home and up the stairs.</p><p>“Daddy!” Little Rosie runs across the room to hug her father.</p><p>At the same time Sherlock exclaims a low, “Thank God,” rising off the floor where the two were playing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Plot 2 - Stripper AU</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Take this, contact me if you need anything, anything at all… books, lab fees or just… want to talk. Call me.” handing over a business card: Sherlock Holmes – Consulting Detective</p><p>“I’m not a…” John angrily retorts</p><p>“I am well aware you are not a prostitute John. I’m sure we can make… a satisfactory arrangement.”</p><p>“What, um, sort of arrangement?”</p><p>“Someone with your skills could come in handy on cases sometimes.”</p><p>“Pole dancing?” bit of a laugh, “You have some interesting cases then.”</p><p>“Don’t be an idiot, you’re studying medicine at school.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Plot 3 - Wingged AU</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Flight of Fancy</p><p>He was so startled he dropped the glass in his hand to shatter against the stone floor when a loud cry rang out. Looking outside the widows he spies crossbow bolts and arrows fly upward into the sky toward a flying man? Giant bird? Beast? Whatever it was had golden wings similar to those of an eagle, a very large eagle. The being in question made a heart-breaking cry and spiralled out of control, hitting the side of the tower before landing in a heap upon his balcony. </p><p>Sherlock picked up a dagger and cautiously made his way outside to inspect whatever it was the keeps soldiers shot out of the sky. </p><p>A man. </p><p>A wigged man. </p><p>An injured winged man. </p><p>A crossbow bolt pierced the left shoulder and the wing behind, shattering bones in both locations.</p><p>The eyes of the blond winged man are the deepest blue Sherlock has ever seen. He is mesmerized by their colour for a moment until the winged man groans in pain.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Plot 4 - A/B/O AU 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John woke slowly thinking Sherlock had tied him to their bed for some reason until the smell of a strange Alpha hits his nose. He knows that scent, he hasn’t had to smell it in years though. Acrid, sour… he treated the soldier after a skirmish in Helmand. John was promoted and transferred before the Alpha fully recovered.</p><p>“You’re mine, I saw you first! I fucking shot you in Afghanistan so I could get you. Damn the army and their suppressants. I’m taking what I want and nobody is going to stop me!” Sebastian Moran declares with a growl. “Jim says I can have you while he takes that meddling Holmes for himself.”</p><p>Elsewhere (in the same building), Sherlock has his own problems. He awakens handcuffed, naked, to a chair, an Omega with a sickly, mouldy scent is staring at him. </p><p>Moriarty.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Plot 5 - Time Travel AU</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Watson!”</p><p>“Sherlock, what’s wrong”</p><p>“Since when do you call me Sherlock?”</p><p>“Since when do you call me Watson?”</p><p>“Amusing. Something is wrong Watson… I can’t figure it out…”</p><p>“Really? Maybe it was the pint bottle of whiskey you chugged last night. I left the paracetamol and a bottle of water next to the bed for you.”</p><p>"I... why would I ‘chug’ whiskey?”</p><p>“Lestrade bet I could handle it better than you. You lost by the way. I was able to get you home and into bed. I should warn you, Greg took video of it. I think he likes it when you’re intoxicated.”</p><p>“Watson where is my blue dressing gown?”</p><p>“It’s in your hand Sherlock.”</p><p>“No, my blue wool dressing gown.”</p><p>“You have a tan wool dressing gown. The blue one is silk. Are you sure you’re feeling alright Sherlock?”</p><p>“Why do you keep calling me by my Christian name?”</p><p>“Sorry, what?”</p><p>“Why do you keep calling me Sherlock?”</p><p>“It’s your name!”</p><p>“No need to get angry. Anyway, where did my blue wool dressing gown go, I never had a silk one. It must belong to one of the insipid women you insist on seeing.”</p><p>Confused silence.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Plot 6 -</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“She shot you Sherlock! How the fuck am I supposed to forgive her for that?”</p><p>“You’ll have to find a way John.”</p><p>“Why? I don’t want anything to do with her anymore! I… I can’t…”</p><p>“Can’t what John?”</p><p>“I can’t be with someone who shot you Sherlock.”</p><p>“But you chose her…”</p><p>“And now I’m choosing not to. I choose you, I should have never have chosen her over you to begin with.”</p><p>“I…”</p><p>“Don’t tell me you don’t want me, I see the way you look at me.”</p><p>“And just how do I look at you John?” Exasperated.</p><p>“The same way I look at you.” Same tone back.</p><p>“Be that as it may… you have to go back to her.”</p><p>“Why? Give me one good reason to go back to that, that lying bitch! Nothing she’s told me is the truth, not even her bloody name!”</p><p>“For the baby John. You have to protect your baby!”</p><p>“Is it even mine? She’s lied about everything else! Who knows who all she’s been fucking all over London!”</p><p>“John…”</p><p>“I… you always say I have a tell, and can’t lie properly. How am I supposed to lie to a trained operative?”</p><p>“I’ll teach you… we can work on your skills while you help me recuperate. You should be ready by Christmas. Ouch!”</p><p>“That’s enough, you need to take it easy. Let’s get you into bed and I’ll give you something for the pain.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Plot 7 - Post Reichenbach AU</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John has been kidnapped. Again.</p><p>The last thing he recalls after exiting his apartment building that morning is a man bumping into him and a stinging sensation to his upper left arm. Everything went dark, literally after that. </p><p>He was cold. His jacket holding his phone, wallet, and keys along with his shoes and belt are missing. Thankfully he still has his shirt, socks, and trousers. He doesn’t know what day it was let alone the time of day. He doesn’t know how long he had been left in this dark room with only a thin threadbare blanket to help keep him warm.</p><p>He was greatly relieved at finding two lidded buckets in one corner. One containing stale water. The other is no longer empty after having had to eliminate his bladder.</p><p>He hasn’t been able to find anything to eat. The only things he could find on the cold, concrete feeling walls were metal rungs and hooks at odd intervals and a metal grate in the floor. He is not sure if he wants someone to bring food or not.</p><p>He doesn’t know where he is. Is he still in London? Is he even still in the UK? </p><p>Even worse, will anyone miss him? Sherlock has been gone for two years now. He alienated himself from Mrs. Hudson, Greg Lestrade and Molly Hooper.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Plot 8 - A/B/O AU 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Why must I meet them Mummy?”</p><p>“We have a contract, you know that. Your sister Euros was supposed to marry Coronel Watson’s eldest but fate decided against them.“</p><p>“Euros can marry, she’s only in a mental hospital. Surely they have visiting rights for spouses?”</p><p>“No, we already discussed this. They are, well were, both Beta’s. The coronels eldest was shot and killed while on patrol in the Army. The contract is now between you and the youngest son, an Alpha. Unless of course you want to meet the Alpha daughter.”</p><p>“Oh God no! Why me? Can’t Mycroft being the elder son marry one of them or something?”</p><p>“Mycroft is a Beta dearest, he can’t Bond with an Alpha. You being an Omega however…”</p><p>“I don’t want to Bond and be some overpowering Alpha’s brood mare!”</p><p>“Now darling, you know you have to Bond eventually.“</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Plot 9 - Kidnapped Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They finally stole a car! The idiot driver left it running when he went into Starbucks for a coffee. They can’t believe their luck! This was the last thing they needed to be included in the gang. Big Kenny was gonna be so happy with this new Dodge Charger. This thing has all the bells and whistles, a LOT of power and handles like a dream. Best of all, it still has dealer plates! </p><p>They pop the trunk to be greeted by a smallish blond Tasmanian devil wielding a tire lever with considerable skill.</p><p>---</p><p>A few months later another car is stolen. When the trunk is opened, a blond man is waiting. </p><p>“Charlie, this is the guy I was telling you about. Don’t underestimate him…”</p><p>---</p><p>“Can you identify the guys you stole the car from?” John asks the car thieves.</p><p>“Um”</p><p>“Do you remember the location where you found it?”</p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p>“Alright, good. Are, um, you guys homeless?”</p><p>“Yes…”</p><p>“Good, good.”</p><p>“Why’s that good mister?”</p><p>“Doctor.” He corrects automatically as Sherlock is not here to do so.</p><p>“Mister Doctor? Like Dr. Strange?”</p><p>“No, just Doctor. Dr. John Watson. Perhaps you know my friend, the Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes?”</p><p>“Oh. Yeah, skinny Marie at Waterloo Bridge went on about him a couple years ago. Claims he gave her £50.00 for tea.”</p><p>“Yeah, that and some information. He’s very generous to the homeless who help him out. Heck, I’ve even helped a few myself who didn’t feel comfortable going into a clinic for treatment. Even our landlady helps feed them. Sherlock even pays the café downstairs to give people who have the right code word coffee and a sandwich.”</p><p>“Code word, what’s the word?”</p><p>“Take me home and I’ll give it to you along with a reward. Deal?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Plot 10 - A/B/O AU 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock</p><p>A small young boy with blue eyes and dark curly hair is sitting at the table eating his breakfast. “Mummy?” </p><p>“Yes, Sherlock dear?” The slightly curvy, yet still striking, female Omega answers.</p><p>“Do I have to Bond when I grow up?” He young boy cocks his head to the side.</p><p>“Well, if you present as an Omega it would be imperative we find you a suitable mate fairly young. It’s not healthy for an Omega to wait too long to find a Bondmate.” </p><p>“And if I’m an Alpha?”</p><p>“An Omega would complete you then, help to control your urges.”</p><p>“Can I choose who I want?”</p><p>“Of course, dear, no one would want to force you to be with someone you didn’t want to be with.”</p><p>“Good. I want someone who will protect me, I’m tired of being called names all the time. I’ll need someone brave and gentle and kind. They’ll have to have a brain to keep up with my cleverness. Oh, and they’d have to have the most beautiful blue eyes and shiny gold hair. And they’ll have to like to play pirates with me.” Six year old Sherlock pulls out a toy tin soldier out of his back pocket to show to his Mum.</p><p>---</p><p>Sherlock is ranting, staring at yet another blubbering mess his parents brought home to interest him with yet again. The plump, dark haired female Omega with brown eyes didn’t even have to open her mouth for him to know she wasn’t suitable. They’ve all smelled so wrong to him, horrid. “Mummy, none of these vapid Omegas you keep parading in front of me has even a smidgeon of a brain!”</p><p>“But Sherlock dear, you need to find someone…”</p><p>“I told you what I wanted! None of these Omega have even come close to that. And quite frankly I’d rather have a male at this point, these women have too many emotions and their perfumes reek!” He bellows as he storms out of the room.</p><p> </p><p>John</p><p>Yet again John is hiding under his twin sized bed in his darkened bedroom. His father came home drunk again and started yelling at his mother. John and Harry learned at a young age to hide from their father when he yelled, especially if he smelled of alcohol. It was only a matter of time before his fists often followed his shouted drunken words.</p><p>It was the same argument as always. His only boy was a poofter, a lowly Omega! She must have cheated on him, must have invited the mailperson or someone in to hold her over until he returned from work during her heat. It didn’t matter that the DNA test proved his theory wrong, he was right dammit!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Plot 11 - Three Way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey Molly, I got your text. What’s up?” John announces walking through the door to the morgue at St. Bart’s Hospital.</p><p>“Hi John. I, um…” Molly turns a deep red, “I want to have a baby. And I want you and Sherlock to be the fathers. Well… I don’t care which of you is the father, that is. That and I, um, I don’t want to do AI… Natural... I want a natural impregnation.” Molly states.</p><p>“Ah… so that would mean…” Dr. Watson begins blushing himself and looks at the floor.</p><p>“Yes, I am aware of what that means.” Molly blushes a deeper shade of red herself.</p><p>John licks his lips, clears his throat, and makes eye contact again, “Have you…”</p><p>“Oh God no. I haven’t asked Sherlock yet, I texted you both to meet me here. I’m glad you arrived before he did… I thought I should talk with you first since… you’d be more, ah, amenable, to my request seeing as Sherlock is gay.” Molly interrupts.</p><p>John clears his throat again, “So, you’d want us both? At the same time or?“</p><p>Molly looks at the wall just over John’s left shoulder, “Actually John, I was thinking Sherlock could penetrate me while you, um, do the same to him. If he, um, finishes before you… then you could sort of… take over.” Turning an even deeper shade of red. “Sherlock, he said you always get him off before you… um” Molly waves a hand in the air.</p><p>“Orgasms. Molly why are you discussing my sex life with John?” Sherlock demands swooping into the room.</p><p>Molly looks at John in the hope he would voice her request. John lifts an eyebrow at Molly, shakes his head and turns to face Sherlock. Before Molly can begin, John looks back at her and suggests, “Molly? Maybe the morgue isn’t the best place for this conversation. What say we go find somewhere a bit more private?”</p><p>Sherlock is eyeing John closely. “There’s an empty classroom down the hall.” He offers.</p><p>“No, John is right… I shouldn’t have said anything here. My shift ends in an hour, why don’t I meet you at Baker Street around half six.”</p><p>“You called us in here, I thought you had an interesting body or something.” Sherlock pouts.</p><p>Under his breath John mumbles, “Oh she does.”</p><p>“What was that John? I didn’t quite catch what you said.” Sherlock frowns at John as Molly blushes again, she was close enough to hear his comment.</p><p>John sighs, looks at Molly, “Is Chinese alright for supper? We have nothing in.” Motioning his head toward Sherlock, “God help me, I’ll let him know.” </p><p>“Thank you, John.” Molly replies as Sherlock demands, “What will you let me know John?”</p><p>---</p><p>Half an hour later, back at Baker Street. “Molly wants to do what?!?” Sherlock exclaims, “Is she insane? Has she lost her mind…”</p><p>“No… she wants a child and wants us to be the fathers.”</p><p>Glaring John in the eye, “And she want us to, to…” Makes a rude hand gesture.</p><p>“Precisely.”</p><p>“NO! Absolutely not, no.” Frowning.</p><p>“No? And here I thought I was the jealous one.” John muses out loud before giving Sherlock a chaste kiss on the lips.</p><p>“I’m not jealous” Sherlock pouts, “I’m worried it would remind you how much you like women and you would leave me.”</p><p>“I’ll never leave you Sherlock, I love you too much to do that!”</p><p>“I love you too John.” Takes a deep breath and lets it out, “Fine. We can do what Molly wants.”</p><p>---</p><p>Doctor mode kicks in, “Molly will have to give us a warning so we can shower and, ah, prepare ourselves.” Going over to the desk for a pad of paper and a pen to take notes. “First off, we’ll have to be tested for STD’s, don’t want to make any mistakes.”</p><p>“John?”</p><p>“You have a faster recovery than me… you could fuck me while I’m in Molly. We’ll have to go back to the ‘toy store’ and pick up another anal plug. Oh, and more lube, we’ll definitely need more lube. Cock ring! I’ll certainly need a cock ring if I’m to watch you fuck Molly without coming.”</p><p>Sherlock’s voice drops half an octave, “John.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Plot 12 - case angst</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sitting in a coffee shop enjoying a quick cup and a snack during a case, a man who drugged his prey prior to mutilating and murdering them. John and Sherlock are sitting at a table enjoying one another’s company, talking about the case and life in general. John called for the bill when he started to feel tired, figuring the adrenaline and lack of sleep from the past couple of days was catching up with him.</p><p>A member of the wait staff brings by their bill. Turning over the check to leave money, John pales, spits out the coffee in his mouth and shoves the bill over to his tablemate with a shocked “Sherlock!”</p><p>Sherlock himself pales and pulls out his phone texting Mycroft, as he reads the message on the piece of paper:</p><p>'Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!'</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Plot 13 - Kidnapped</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock has an experiment going that takes over the entire kitchen of 221B. John, in need of a cuppa figures he’ll just pop out to grab two cups of nirvana from Speedy’s. John doesn’t even bother to put on his coat, he wasn’t planning on being gone long. He only grabbed his keys and £10 from his wallet, more than enough for two cups of coffee and a couple sweet rolls.</p><p>Déjà vu hits him as a man bumps into him going one direction down the street, only to be stabbed in the neck by a needle by his accomplice heading the other way.</p><p>John comes to, feeling dizzy, shoulders stiff, and very cold with a pounding headache. Trying to take the stiffness out of his shoulders he discovers his hands are tied behind his back. Looking across the room at the dim figure in the shadows “You’ve made a huge mistake.” He growls.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Plot 14 - From This Day Forward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mary Morstan, Martha Hudson, Gregory Lestrade, Molly Hooper, OMC, OFC</p><p>Story Note: It’s the wedding day! Everything will go off without a hitch, right? Right?</p><p>Side note: Learned writing this: fiancé is a husband-to-be, fiancée is a wife-to-be. Apparently, a lot of writers get this one wrong. Learned something new, wonder what I’ve forgotten?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 1 – Get Me to the Church on Time</p><p>He can hear Big Ben striking the hour. </p><p>He hears ten chimes. </p><p>He has until noon to be there. </p><p>He showered using the shampoo and soap the hotel provided.</p><p>He shaved.</p><p>He styled his hair.</p><p>This is it.</p><p>This is the day.</p><p>He has lost track how long he’s been faking opinions leading up to this day.</p><p>In two hours, he will no longer be a free man. No longer a bachelor.</p><p>This is the day he is to say ‘I do’ to the person he asked to marry him.</p><p>Why does he feel as though he is about to throw up? Again.</p><p>Wasting time, he repacks everything he took out of his overnight bag, adding what he wore yesterday as well.</p><p>Last in is his shaving kit. He’ll need quick access to it to place it into the packed bags inside the door of his flat on the other side of town.</p><p>“Pull it together Watson!” He growls at himself in the mirror over the desk.</p><p>Squaring his shoulders, standing tall and picking up a hanger on which a dove grey tuxedo is carefully hung.</p><p>He nods once then tells himself, “Alright then, into battle” as he starts to dress.</p><p>---</p><p>The church is small and packed with familiar and even more unfamiliar faces. Standing at the altar with his best man beside him, he watches as his fiancée walks toward him in step with the echoing, blaring music. The overly loud wedding march is giving him a headache, well making the headache he has feel worse. He still feels as though he needs to throw up.</p><p>So intent on not doing just that he misses most of what the minister in front of them has to say. Finally, he forces himself to pay attention as the priest pauses to take a breath before adding, “If anyone has any reason for these two people not to be married here today speak now or forever hold your peace.”</p><p>In the silence that followed, he heard, “John?” from a well-known baritone behind his right shoulder.</p><p>John turns to look at Sherlock amidst a church full of shocked noises.</p><p>Sherlock followed up with, “John, I need to speak with you… privately. Please.”</p><p>“Timing Sherlock!” John admonishes his best man.</p><p>Sherlock glances over John’s shoulder to his fiancée, Mary Morstan (if looks could kill, he would be dead.), then back to the groom. “It’s important John. Please…” stares intently at John raising his right eyebrow, “Please.”</p><p>Sherlock looks like a hungry, lost puppy someone just yelled at and then tried to kick. John sighs, Sherlock hardly ever begs for anything. “Fine.” Waving a hand toward a vestibule.</p><p>Behind John, Mary demands, “Whatever Sherlock has to say he can say in front of everyone John.” If looks could kill John surmises both he and Sherlock would be dead right about now. Mary is glaring daggers at them both.</p><p>He figures Sherlock is about to deduce something about the officiant not being legal or something. Glancing over his shoulder, “If you insist Mary.” Looking Sherlock in the eyes, “Alright, go on. What do I need to know now that’s so important it can’t wait?”</p><p>Sherlock glances at Mary, still glaring daggers at him, then makes eye contact again with John. Taking a deep breath, he declares, “Mary is pregnant. The baby isn’t yours.” At full volume with a slight echo from their position at the altar.</p><p>The resultant gasp from the audience is louder than when Sherlock first interrupted the ceremony. Along with Mary’s angrily hissed, “How dare you!”</p><p>John knows Sherlock is hardly ever wrong. Nausea is quickly being replaced by anger as he turns toward the woman he was about to wed. “We aren’t even married yet and you’ve already cheated on me?” John growls.</p><p>Mary, with a placating hand up, “John I…”</p><p>“Nope, don’t want to hear it.” He snarls. Grinning a cold smile, he continues, “Did you expect me to raise another man’s child as my own? Were you ever going to tell me?” His hands are fists at his side, he’s never wanted to strike a woman so badly before.</p><p>Before she can answer he unfurls one fist and shoves it palm up into her face, “My grandmothers’ ring. I want it back. You don’t deserve it.” He barks out in command.</p><p>Crying now, “John I…”</p><p>Captain Watson orders, “Ring. Now.”</p><p>From the crowd on the brides’ side of the church a light-haired man with blue eyes stands up and shouts, “The baby is mine! Mary, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you!”</p><p>"David not now! Sit down!" Mary shrieks back.</p><p>---</p><p>Marching out into the crisp fall air John hears footsteps behind him. Turning to speak to the man behind him, he timidly asks, “Sherlock, can I come back home to Baker Street? Please?”</p><p>A few steps behind Sherlock are Greg Lestrade, Molly Hooper and Mrs. Hudson; the women with their plus-ones.</p><p>Before they can hear Sherlock replies, “Of course John. You are always welcome. It’s your home too.”</p><p>Glancing at the small crowd now around them. “We should pick up a change of clothes on the way.” Sherlock adds.</p><p>Staring at the car parked out in front of the church John states, “I paid for the damned thing, I’m bloody well using it!” before stalking to the car and sliding into the back seat, leaving the door open. There is enough room for all of them inside the long black limousine.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Plot 15 - Mistaken Identity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>AU, Alternate first meeting</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The blond man walks into the room at the rehab facility. He’s not looking where he’s going as he is paying attention to where he is putting the tip of his cane while balancing a pink bakery box. “Hi Harry, sorry it’s been so long but…” looking up, “You’re not Harry!”</p><p>“No.” says the dark haired lump on the bed</p><p>“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll just go check to see where Harry went.” The blond man turns to go.</p><p>“Please, stay. I don’t get visitors and I’m bored.” The lump on the bed sits up. Striking eyes that seem to change colour as he’s looking. The eyes seem to be looking into the blonds soul.</p><p>“Well, I’m not supposed to disturb any of the other patients.”</p><p>“You would not be disturbing me. There’s nothing to do here… I need… I need a distraction. Please stay, visit, and talk with me.” The dark-haired stranger is pleading.</p><p>“Since you asked so nicely, I suppose I can visit for a few minutes. I’m John, John Watson.” The blond limps closer to the bed, shifting the box to his right hand, extending his left hand to shake.</p><p>“Sherlock Holmes. Thank you for staying. You don’t know how boring this place is.” Holding John’s hand longer than is customary. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”</p><p>“Pardon?” John is a bit shocked.</p><p>“Which one was it Afghanistan or Iraq? You’ve a tan but it doesn’t go past your wrist. You have an injury to your left shoulder…”</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Plot 16 - I Married an Assassin who Shot my Best Friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“John you’ll be coming home with me when I’m released.” Sherlock declares, wincing.</p><p>“Really?” sounding rather unconvinced.</p><p>“Where else would you go? Harry?”</p><p>John winces himself.</p><p>“Thought not.”</p><p>“I’ll need a change of clothes…”</p><p>“Mycroft has agents at this moment gathering your things from your house and moving them to Baker Street”</p><p>“What about Mary?</p><p>“What about her?</p><p>John throws up both his hands and exasperation, “She shot you Sherlock! You died!” John yells.</p><p>“Shhhh, keep your voice down. You and Mycroft are the only ones who know, well, and a few of his minions.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, that’s much better!” voice still raised in anger. Takes a calming breath before continuing in a normal tone of voice. “Why can’t I just go back to my old bedsit? I need to reassess my life.”</p><p>“I will need medical supervision when I’m released and I refuse anyone else to help me but you.”</p><p>“Why me?”</p><p>“I trust you John.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Yes, oh.”</p><p>---</p><p>“John, Mycroft sent over Mary’s file. You probably shouldn’t read it.” There’s a thick folder on the kitchen table between them.</p><p>“Why not, she’s my wife…”</p><p>“She was right John. You won’t love her anymore if you read it.”</p><p>“I don’t love her now Sherlock, she shot you!”</p><p>“Do you still have the AGRA flash drive she gave you?</p><p>John reaches into the pocket of his denims and pulls it out to show Sherlock.</p><p>“May I look at it? See if there is anything different from Mycroft’s information.”</p><p>John hands it over, placing his flat palm over the file folder on the table. “I want to know everything Sherlock, no holding back.”</p><p>Sherlock nods, “You will learn everything John, in time. For now, Mycroft and I believe it would be best you not know. We still need to make sure she will stay around to have your child.</p><p>“If it is my child…”</p><p>“We’ll run a paternity test as soon as the baby is born.” Sherlock looks up, frowning, “You have doubts?”</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Plot 17 - Going, going, gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Alright folks, last but not least we have our final bachelor of the evening. Let’s give a warm welcome to one of our own, Dr. John Watson. Dr. Watson holds a position in the St. Bartholomew’s family in one of our NHS clinics. He is a decorated war hero gaining the rank of Captain in the Royal Army Medical Corps. He is widowed and has a daughter just under two years of age.”</p><p>John being described, standing at attention mid-stage under a spotlight, winces at the last sentence.</p><p>“In his spare time, he assists Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes. I’m sure we’ve all read his blog about their exploits. Let’s start the bidding at £100!”</p><p>Waving at a blond woman in the front row, “Oooh, we have a bid! Can we get another £50?”</p><p>Pointing to the middle of the crowd, “£150, how about £200 for the good doctor?”</p><p>An older woman with dyed red hair, raises her bidding number and calls out, “£300”</p><p>“We have a bid of £300, anyone for another £50?” Silence. No one has gone for more than £300.</p><p>“Alright, £300 once, £300 twice…”</p><p>From the back of the room a bored baritone voice calls out, “£500.”</p><p>There is a collective gasp in the room, no one has ever been auctioned for over £300 before, ever.</p><p>The woman with red hair scowls at the man then calls out, “£50 more.”</p><p>The auctioneer calls out, “That’s £550 to you sir, do you have an additional bid?”</p><p>The man, with dark curly hair wearing a slim-fit navy-blue suit stands, and declares “£1000.”</p><p>Through another collective gasp, the auctioneer reminds, “This is a cash only event sir.”</p><p>He just looks at the blond man on the stage smirking back at him as he answers, sounding bored again, “Obviously.” Taking his seat once again.</p><p>The auctioneer calls out once again, “Alright people, the current bid is at £1000. Do we have any more bids?” Looking at the woman with the red hair scowling at her adversary, while shaking her head negative. “Going once for £1000. Going twice for £1000. Sold to bidder 1895 for £1000,” banging a gavel. “Thank you and congratulations everyone, please pay the cashier and don’t forget to collect the contact information on your prize.”</p><p>John walks over to Sherlock who looks up confused, “What does she mean by prize?”</p><p>John laughs, “It was a bachelor auction Sherlock, you’ve won a date with me.” Leaning closer, “Thanks for that, I didn’t like the look in that woman’s eyes.” John confides. Looking around and lowering his voice, “They’ll want me to do this again next year for that price you know.” John informs Sherlock as he counts out the contents of his wallet.</p><p>“Hmm.” Is all he’s answered with until, “I’m short £10 do you have any cash on you?”</p><p>“You have got to be kidding me!” John exclaims while reaching for his own wallet to pull out the required bill and handing it over.</p><p>Sherlock looks up from counting, “I had to pay the taxi. I did have another £20 in my wallet, but I ended up handing it over for the ride here. If you had just waited for me instead of sneaking off…” He pouts.</p><p>“Sneaking? You were watching Rosie! Hey, who the bloody hell is watching her now? You didn’t leave her all alone did you?” </p><p>Sherlock stands at his full height and looks down at John, “I would NEVER abandon Watson like that!” He answers offended. Then relaxes and adds more calmly, “Mrs. Hudson is watching her. We have another,” glances at his watch, “hour before she needs to leave for her bridge club. We can stop at an ATM on the way home and I’ll pay you back, alright?”</p><p>“Fine.”</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Plot 18 - Doctor Heal Thyself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock takes the steps two at a time even with several bags of groceries in his hands. Upon entering the flat he spies John and Rosie on the couch. John is laying so Rosie is against his left side, against the back of the sofa, he has her head cradled over where his scar is. John’s eyes are just open, blinking slowly in the low light. Rosie is asleep, snuffling; sick.</p><p>“You’re early, I didn’t expect you for another two hours.” Sherlock informs John, still holding the shopping.</p><p>John swallows, wincing in discomfort, before speaking low, “Yeah, didn’t feel all that well. Got a call from the day care just as I finished my last scheduled patient for the day. Told Sarah I had to leave early because of both myself and Rosie.” John had been rubbing his left thumb in a soothing circle on Rosie back as she sleeps. “She was asking for ‘Papa’ when I picked her up.” His right arm is arched over the top of his head, fingers brushing the pillows usually at the other end of the couch.</p><p>Sherlock turns with his bags heading into the kitchen as he says over his back, “Yes, she would want her father when she’s feeling ill.” Voice still low enough not to wake the sleeping toddler.</p><p>John can hear Sherlock putting things away as he answers, just loud enough to carry that far. “I’m ‘Dada,’ you’re ‘Papa.’ She was asking for you.”</p><p>Sherlock comes back out into the lounge, “Did you take anything for your fevers?” Lightly blushing but ignoring John’s statement.</p><p>John swallows, wincing again, “Yeah, ‘bout 2. I gave Rosie medicine then took a couple paracetamol myself.” He blinks slow, “Felt too worn out to make it up to our room… exhausted after taking off my jacket and shoes.”</p><p>Sherlock turns on the light on the desk, noticing John shut his eyes at the light. Frowning Sherlock moves closer, “You look grey John, should you look grey? What are your symptoms?”</p><p>John quirks a half-grin, “Started with abdominal cramps, a fever and headache, queasiness. By the time I got back here my throat was sore. Tired. Not sure other than the fever with Rosie, she kept asking for you until I got her to fall asleep.”</p><p>Mrs. Hudson can be heard coming up the stairs as Sherlock turns to head down the hall to the loo.</p><p>“Who, who.” Mrs. Hudson lowly announces, carrying in a tray with tea. “I made some biscuits earlier, I thought you might like some.” Placing the try on the coffee table, on top of the papers left from their last case.</p><p>John gets out a, “Ta” as Sherlock enters stating, “yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson, now please move I need to take John’s temperature.” Sherlock is holding a new temporal thermometer in his hands.</p><p>Sherlock strides in as Mrs. Hudson admonishes him for being rude and reminding him there are two sick people on the couch. “Yes, yes. I’ll do Rosie first.” Sliding the unit from forehead to her temple softly so as not to wake her. The gadget emits a low beep. Frowning Sherlock shows it to John, “It’s set to Fahrenheit, 99 is high correct?”</p><p>John doesn’t even bother looking at the unit, “Yeah, should be 98.6 with that setting.”</p><p>Sherlock runs the thermometer over John, the unit once again emits a beep. “John you are 100.8. I still don’t like your colour.”</p><p>From the end of the sofa Mrs. Hudson agrees, “You are a dreadful colour John.”</p><p>Sherlock puts the thermometer on the tea tray, “Alright. So, abdominal cramps… localized?”</p><p>John frowns a bit, “Yeah, more on the right. Hold on.” John brings his right arm down, palpating his abdomen from left to right. When he gets to the right mid quadrant he sucks in a grunt of pain and swears, “Shit.” </p><p>“John?” Sherlock asks concerned.</p><p>John looks up at him, “Call emergency services, tell them I have a probable appendicitis. Then call your brother.” He starts rubbing Rosie’s back again.</p><p>Sherlock halts dialling his phone, “Why do you want to talk with Mycroft?”</p><p>“Ambulance Sherlock!” John commands calmly from the couch. </p><p>Trying to deduce why John wants to talk with his brother Sherlock strides away to talk with Emergency Services. He paces into and out of the kitchen then back to John, “… yes 221B Baker Street. Thank you.” Stopping and looking down at John, Sherlock asks again, “Why do you want to talk with Mycroft?”</p><p>Mrs. Hudson leaves to presumably open the door for the ambulance.</p><p>Right hand spread lightly over his abdomen and left caressing his daughter John glances at Sherlock to note the hurt look. “You can leave the phone on speaker, I have nothing to hide.” John assures his flatmate, still comforting his daughter. </p><p>“Right” Sherlock states sitting next to the tea tray on the coffee table and ringing his brother.</p><p>It rings twice before being answered, “Sherlock is everything alright, I just received a report of an ambulance being called to your flat.”</p><p>Before John can speak, Sherlock states, “John has a possible appendicitis and wants to talk to you.”</p><p>“Of course. John?” Mycroft is calm.</p><p>“Yeah, um… do you have the papers I asked for prepared yet?” John asks, watching Sherlock watch him.</p><p>“I have them on my desk as we speak, I was going to bring them by on my way home tonight.”</p><p>“Ta. Um, can you bring them to the hospital?” Asking Sherlock with his eyes which one.</p><p>“Bart’s” Sherlock supplies. They can hear sirens approaching.</p><p>“Can you bring them to St Bart’s? Now? I’d like to get this done sooner than later just in case.” John requests.</p><p>“I will meet you at the hospital personally.” Mycroft assures then hangs up before John can thank him.</p><p>Sherlock asks, “What papers?” Suspicious.</p><p>Taking a deep calming breath, John explains. “I’ve been thinking about this for awhile now. I really don’t want Rosie to end up in Harry’s care if anything should happen to me. Right now, legally that’s where she would end up by default. She needs someone she can trust to be there for her, and that person is you. I would rather you raise my daughter than my drunken sister. I asked Mycroft to procure adoption papers.“</p><p>“John?” Sherlock, shocked.</p><p>“You love her, I know. Rosie loves you. Bloody hell, I love you too!” </p><p>Sherlock is speechless as the ambulance team barges into the flat followed by Mrs. Hudson. </p><p>Mrs. Hudson takes over caring for a now screaming at the top of her lungs Rosie.</p><p>John is bustled off to hospital, Sherlock rides in the ambulance. </p><p>---</p><p>Mycroft meets them in A&amp;E – have a nurse and Mycroft’s driver sign as witnesses. Mycroft notarized the papers himself.</p><p>John claims Sherlock is his ‘partner’ so the staff won’t drag him off as John is examined. </p><p>---</p><p>John in recovery – Sherlock declares his love</p><p>John need to have surgery again as there is a missing sponge…</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Plot 19 - The Way You Make Me Feel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock ran into Bart’s to return a few no longer needed body parts and possibly pick up a few others Molly set aside for him. I went off to the shops to refill our pantry and the chemists for a few other personal supplies we were running low on. Even with the multiple locations I went to, I still made it back to the flat with my bags of goodies before Sherlock. I decided to remove some of the ‘eloquent’ dust while Sherlock was not around to berate me.</p><p>I was feeling a bit nostalgic, I had the stereo volume up as I danced along with tunes from when I was a teenager. I had the music up too loud and I failed to hear Sherlock enter and climb the steps. I’d been dancing along while dusting the bookshelves to Michael Jackson’s ‘Beat It’, when the song ends I hear clapping from the doorway.</p><p>I hurriedly click off the stereo as the first beats of ‘Billie Jean’ begin. My ears feel hot, I know I must be blushing as I sheepishly wave a hello at Sherlock, still leaning at ease in the open doorway to the flat.</p><p>Stepping inside and locking the door, he begins, “You lied to me John Watson. You can dance, those were some very impressive moves you were just making.” Stepping up to me he whispers in my ear, “I think I need to see that from the beginning.” Nipping my lobe as he pulls back with the stereo clicker in his hand. I never even felt him take it from my hand.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Plot 20 - Over the Edge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Lestrade just texted, it’s at least a seven John!” Sherlock bellows up the stairs, “We need to hurry before the forensics team gets there and messes up the crime scene again.” Frantically called from the bottom of the stairs to Rosie’s room.</p><p>Bouncing an almost asleep Rosie in his arms, John steps to the doorway and hisses back “Keep your voice down! She was almost asleep. Make yourself useful and see if Mrs. Hudson is free.”</p><p>“Sorry. Right. I’ll go check then. Be right back.” Subdued, yet still excited about the case.</p><p>From the landing below Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson speaks up, “I heard the call of the wild. You’re just lucky most of my bridge group is on holiday this week or I wouldn’t be at home boys.”</p><p>---</p><p>They are huddled near a broken window in an abandoned warehouse. “Did you text Greg this time? I’d hate to go running after criminals again without backup, we have a kid to think of.” John whispers, watching their five suspects through what’s left of their dingy warehouse window. </p><p>Nodding, “Yes. He was at home already and had to call it in. He should be here in 20.” Sherlock whispers back.</p><p>Spotting movement inside the far building, “But I don’t think they’ll get here in time. Looks like they’re planning on leaving any minute. They are quickly running out of boxes to put in the van.” John points out.</p><p>Sherlock runs a hand down John’s back, “You don’t have your gun?”</p><p>“You rushed us out so fast, I figured you grabbed it.” John growls back. “You’re not telling me we’re not armed, are you? Fuck, and can you tell me why we only seem to chase dangerous criminals after dark?” Voice rising.</p><p>“Keep your voice down!” Sherlock shushes, “Criminals prefer the dark that way fewer people can see what they’re up to.”</p><p>“Fantastic.” John mumbles sarcastically. Then questioning, “Is there any way we can slow them down? Block the door or something?”</p><p>Sherlock jumps up and starts to rush out of the building, “The chains! They unlocked the doors before they drove the van through. We can put the chain back on the closed doors to keep them inside. Come on John!”</p><p>Letting out a string of swear words that would make even a merchant sailor blush, John quickly follows.</p><p>---</p><p>Sherlock ducked between two buildings before John could turn the corner behind him. In the dark, our two heroes get separated. John quickly realizes no one is in front of him so he backtracks only to find signs of a struggle and of someone being dragged away. He fears it can only be Sherlock. John updates Lestrade on his location and the direction the trail is leading.</p><p>The London Eye is lighting up the night behind him, from halfway across Waterloo Bridge John recognizes Sherlock by his coat, surrounded by a group of burly men. Sherlock is standing strangely with arms pulled behind his back and his feet too close together, it looks as though he’s wearing a bag over his head as well. John starts to run to Sherlock’s aid only to watch in horror as a trussed Sherlock is pitched backwards over the railing and into the black water of the Thames below. </p><p>The men run away before John can get to where Sherlock was tossed over. Without hesitating John dives over the side into the water. The tide is in, the water is cold and murky; only the lights under the bridge arches illuminate the water. It’s too dark to see much of anything under the water, John rises to take a deep breath before diving down once again. John swears as though it takes an hour to find his lover but it took less than two minutes. Johns fingers find the ever present Belstaff, he almost sighs in relief as he starts to pull Sherlock back to the surface. </p><p>As they breach the surface of the water, a command can be heard echoing around the docks under the bridge. “Stop fighting me you idiot or you’ll drown us both!”</p><p>Lestrade’s voice calls from above, “John? John do you have Sherlock with you?”</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Plot 21 - ??</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The case was over, Sherlock and John had been up for well over 72-hours. John fell asleep in the back of Greg’s car on the way to Baker Street and only managed to get as far as the sofa before he crashed. Sherlock and Greg are drinking coffee and talking quietly in the kitchen at Baker Street while John naps on the sofa…</p><p>“So… I always wondered how you two met.” Greg wonders.</p><p>“A mutual friend, Mike Stamford, introduced us. I was looking for a flat mate and John needed to move out of the dismal housing the military put him in.”</p><p>“When did you realize John was the one for you?”</p><p>“More or less during the ‘Hope’ case” seeing the look of confusion on the DI face “John dubbed it ‘The Study in Pink’ on his blog.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. The one where he shot the cabbie.” Smirking</p><p>“He. I don’t. That never… How long have you known?” Sherlock stammers.</p><p>“Since I watched you guys walk away side by side that night.” Tilting his head to the side. “You two were giggling, happy. I’d never seen you that way with anyone before. I decided if Anderson couldn’t find any evidence as to who was the shooter, I wouldn’t say a thing.”</p><p>Sherlock smirks, “Ah, put your ‘top man’ on it did you? I’m surprised none of the other times John fired his gun resulted in an inquiry back to that case. Didn’t the ballistics match?”</p><p>“Well… (Rubbing the back of his neck) the bullet disappeared between the time it was dug out of the wall and when it arrived back at the station.” Sherlock quirked an eye at the DI. “Anderson left his evidence kit unattended, yet again. Fool didn’t even find the room John had fired from using the trajectory!” Greg then adds. “If you knew you liked John back then, why did it take you so long to hook up… romantically I mean.”</p><p>“I’d turned down his advances during dinner earlier that night. I had never had such strong feelings for someone before and it, um… frightened me a bit. I was an idiot and told him I was flattered by his attention but I was married to my work. By the end of the night I knew I was doomed and he hadn’t even moved his things in yet.”</p><p>“Must have been hard watching him date those women then.”</p><p>“Yeah, but he stopped around that first Christmas… I didn’t notice it right away. I do know, every time you had a pub night after that, John came home smelling of beer and sex.”</p><p>“What? Damn, he must have pulled when I wasn’t paying attention!”</p><p>“Probably too drunk or trying to chat up some woman to get a leg over yourself.”</p><p>“Not always women… I’m bisexual. John never chatted up any of the men who flirted with him when we were out. Thought he was straight.”</p><p>From the couch John calls out “What bloke could compare with Sherlock?” </p><p>Sherlock blushes.</p><p>“Sorry did we wake you?” Greg</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Plot 22 - Dog Tired</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>John Watson, OMC, Sherlock Holmes</p><p>Kidnapping, drug use, rape,</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My bilateral CTS is not liking sheltering in place and I’ve been wearing my braces to sleep again at night. This was a dream I had the other night, when I woke up I wrote down what I could remember.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s not sure what wakes him at first. He’s exhausted and just wants to go back to sleep. It reeks of dog, he’s no longer sure if the scent comes from himself or the warm body next to him or the old mattress the two are sleeping on. Ah, his bunkmate is dreaming, that’s what woke him. According to the tag on the collar around the dogs neck, his name is Siri. A twitching paw grazes his ankle above the metal shackles, he listens as Siri whines then growls as he dreams. The dog continues to dream as he watches, his own eyes barely slits. No need to alert their handler he’s awake, he’s learned how to fake being asleep. The dog wakes enough to roll over, it’s back to his now. The extra warmth feels good against his naked body, he can feel the muscles in his lower back relax with the heat. </p><p>He closes his eyes and pretends to sleep. He rubs the metal nametag on his own collar between his thumbs while trying to relax. He was having a dream of running under a moonlit sky following a tall pale man with curly hair and mercurial eyes. He knows the person in the dream, maybe if he concentrates, he’ll be able to remember their name. It would be nice to remember his own too, he’s been called ‘dog’ or ‘pet’ for far too long.</p><p>He feels more awake for some reason. He let the Siri have all the food earlier as he was too stiff and sore to move when their handler delivered it through the slit at the bottom of the door. By the time he felt well enough to consider food, his companion had licked the bowl clean and has been sleeping almost continually since. He thought finally being full made the dog sleepy. Maybe there is something in their food? That might be while he feels groggy, mind fuzzy, times where his memory is blank but his body tells him something happened.</p><p>He assesses his situation again while his mind is clearer. Hands are cuffed together in an interesting design, almost like a set of handcuffs set as a cast but in leather and metal. He tried to remove one by dislocating his thumb once but the cuff still wouldn’t slip off. The cuffs are in turn secured to a chain fastened to a metal ring in the rear wall. The chain gives him enough freedom to just reach the food and water bowls near the door on the opposite wall. Three of the walls are cement blocks, the front of the cell and the ceiling are set with cross bars set close enough to keep unwanted canine teeth from someone on the other side. He and his companion are in what looks like a high-end kennel run. He’s beginning to seriously consider the food is being tampered with, the kennel is full but abnormally quiet. </p><p>His left shoulder and head seem to continually ache. His back is sore, actually everywhere is sore, he vaguely remembers being hit with a riding crop the last time he was taken out to ‘play.’ There is something in his rectum, he suspects a plug of some sort; it’s been there almost every time he wakes. He’s lost a lot of weight, he can see his hip bones and feel his ribs with his free fingertips. The dog is almost as thin as he is.</p><p>His memory is still fuzzy but is giving him flashes he’d rather not concentrate too much on. He keeps getting flashes of naked bodies surrounding him while he’s splayed out on a number of contraptions in what the handler calls the ‘play room.’ Each device is equipped to secure him so he can’t fight back or move. He recalls being violated, frequently, and from the feel of his rectum, quite recently.</p><p>Yesterday? Was it? He was taken to the cleaning room where his handler locked his restraints with is arms and legs spread wide. The large blond handler takes his time to thoroughly wash every nook and cranny, massaging a few sore muscles as he goes. The only good thing he can say about his situation is they keep him clean and use warm water to do so. That and the enemas done toward the end of his washing are warm as well. After the final rinse, the handler injects him with something; he rarely remembers anything after.</p><p>The plug in his arse is becoming too irritating. Rolling over, he wiggles to the side of the mattress before reaching down with both hands to remove the offending plastic. Fluid starts dribbling out once the plug is removed. He makes it to the drain in the corner before retching the water he drank before falling asleep. </p><p>He feels colder and weaker than when he woke. Something in the back of his brain is telling him he is ill, he has a fever and chills. He crawls back to the bed curling around Siri for warmth.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Plot 23 - Arsenic and Old Lace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Martha Hudson</p><p>Something I dreamed the other night... </p><p>Yeah, I have odd dreams, I know...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“John” I hear Sherlock moan from the bathroom.</p><p>I walk down the hall from the kitchen where I was about to start breakfast. I knock on the closed door to the loo, “Sherlock you alright?”</p><p>Sherlock moans, “John” again.</p><p>“I’m coming in Sherlock” and follow words with action. Sherlock is sitting hunched over on the floor, the scent of bile is strong. As I take a step in the door, Sherlock rises, unsteadily to his knees to vomit into the toilet. “Ah, you’re sick I see. How long have you been feeling like this then?” I ask, rubbing Sherlock between his shoulder blades. </p><p>Sherlock spits then sits back, flushing the toilet. “It’s been going on for several days.” He complains. “Getting worse.”</p><p>I wet a flannel with cold water and surreptitiously check for a fever as I wipe the sweat off of his brow, “Tell me all your symptoms and when they started.” He seems too flushed for just having vomited.</p><p>Sherlock gives a quick nod. He must not feel well if he’s cooperating. I wet the flannel with cool water and, folding it, drape it over his brow. He hums in approval before beginning.</p><p>“It started a couple weeks ago,” he stops to swallow, “scratchy throat then abdominal cramping and um…”</p><p>I take pity on him, “Diarrhoea?” I ask low.</p><p>Sherlock gives a quick nod, removes the flannel then lunges to the toilet again to vomit again. </p><p>I catch the flannel he threw, tossing it into the sink before rubbing between his shoulder blades again. Hardly any bile comes up. “Better?” I ask. If looks could kill I’d be dead from the one Sherlock aims at me. </p><p>I rinse the flannel and clean Sherlock face as he sits back again, noting one eye is turning red from the strain. Throwing that flannel at the hamper I grab a clean one to wet with cool water, this one I fold and drape over the back of his neck. </p><p>“Sorry. Any other symptoms?” I ask.</p><p>He holds up a finger to give him time or indicate one more symptom. I instead notice his fingernail is odd, ridged with clouds. I pull his right hand down where I can see his fingernails better. I then inspect the other hand. </p><p>Thinking I may know what it is I ask, dreading the answer, “Sherlock have you experienced any tingling in your hands or feet?”</p><p>I can tell from the look he gives me I’m right. I must have paled as he looks concerned.</p><p>“John?” he croaks.</p><p>I look at my own fingernails, seeing a few ‘clouds’ but not as pronounced, I had abdominal cramps the other day. Looking back at him, “I believe we’ll need to be tested for Arsenic poisoning Sherlock.” I pronounce much calmer than I feel. “Your symptoms seem to be further along than mine…”</p><p>“Sugar” he states.</p><p>I show him the white cloudy formations in both of our fingernails, “We’ve both been exposed, I don’t use sugar in my tea or coffee.” Trying to think, we’ve had mostly take-out the last few weeks due to a series of cases.</p><p>“Mrs. Hudson…” Sherlock starts then lunges for the toilet again.</p><p>I soothe his back again, tossing the flannel in the sink. I follow his thought, “Mrs. Hudson has been sharing pastries every morning. Said she won a prize at some bakery, free pastries for a month… most have been almond flavoured. Shit!” I look toward the door, “We’ll have to check her as well.”</p><p>Sherlock groans, and dry heaves again.</p><p>“Let me get my kit, I think I have something for nausea in there.” I pat his shoulder as I rise and leave to retrieve my medical kit from the kitchen. While out there I grab a bottle of vitamin E capsules and a clean glass.</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Plot 24 - Vampire & Werewolf AU</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, OMC</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He slowly wakes up handcuffed to the arms of a metal chair in the middle of a metal cage. “You really are amateurs, aren’t you?” he growls at his captors.</p><p>“Don’t be gettin’ all smart wit’ us. We know what you is.” The older looking man of the trio answers. “There’s a reward for you werewolf and we aims ta collect it.”</p><p>“Hmm, really? I’m not sure how you plan on collecting seeing as you won’t be leaving this building alive.” Sherlock calmly replies, finally rising his gaze to stare at his captors.</p><p>The younger man laughs then points behind Sherlock. “We grabbed your Vampire Doctor friend as well. He’s tied up in ropes doused in holy water with crosses in the knots. He can’t move.”</p><p>Sherlock twists as best he can in the chair, he didn’t notice it was bolted to the floor of the cage when he woke. Always something. John is sitting in another chair, he is tied down with ropes. The idiots didn’t even have John in a cage. The trio pale at the smile on Sherlock’s face as he turns back around and situates himself more comfortably in his chair. “I stand by my statement.”</p><p>“You ain’t standin’ at all werewolf!” The older man sneers. “By this time tomorrow you two will be new exhibits in a private zoo in Japan.”</p><p>Lifting an eyebrow, “Really? Do you know the name of my new, ah, master?” Sherlock wonders casually crossing his right leg over his left. Idiots didn't even secure his legs.</p><p>“Some bloke named Kazuo Yammaguchi with more money than brains. He supposedly has an interesting zoo of supernatural beings.” The middle-aged man finally speaks.</p><p>“Interesting. So, you and your brothers do what exactly? Travel around the globe and collect items for this Japanese fellow.” Sherlock continues in a bored tone.</p><p>The three men look at each other in surprise. The older one bleats, “Who said we was brothers?”</p><p>Calmly Sherlock continues talking, “I did. You are all of similar build, have the same nose and chin. You are blue eyed but your younger brothers both have brown. Your hair colour is the same shade. You also have a similar… (sniffing) smell. Need I go on?” lifting an eyebrow.</p><p>Setting up a tripod with a video camera on top the younger brother states, “No you needn’t.”</p><p>Tilting his head, “Why the camera? Oh! You need to prove to your benefactor you do indeed have a werewolf. You need to film my transformation. Interesting, very interesting.” Smiling.</p><p>“What’s interesting?” The older brother wonders, looking through the viewfinder.</p><p>Smiling a toothy smile Sherlock answers while easily breaking out of his handcuffs, “You three. You failed to note which of us was the vampire and which the werewolf. Did you know that while we were talking the full moon rose?”</p><p>Three men pale as a growl can be heard behind Sherlock as John’s wolf form easily slips out of the flimsy ropes that had him tied to the chair.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Plot 25 - Around the World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Post Reichenbach AU</p><p>John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Molly Hooper, Mary Morstan, Sarah Sawyer</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been nearly two weeks since the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes had jumped off the roof of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. Dr. John Watson is still trying to make sense of all that happened. Sherlock’s funeral was only two days ago but it felt as though years have already passed. Mycroft couldn’t even be bothered to show up for his own brother’s interment. John is still in a state of shock. Mrs. Hudson and Molly Hooper keep bursting into tears every time they see John. It is all John can do not to punch Greg Lestrade whenever he stops by. </p><p>John sees Sherlock fall every time he closes his eyes; he tries his very best not to even so as much as blink anymore. He’s spent more time in a bottle than his drunkard of a sister these past two weeks and really has no desire to stop.</p><p>Three weeks after Sherlock jumped, boxes started to show up at Baker Street addressed to Dr. John H Watson. It was very odd. It started with a scale model of London Bridge, followed a few days later by a miniature Tower of London. A week later the Eifel Tower. Three weeks after that John opened a box to find a tiny Sphinx followed two days later by miniatures of the Great Pyramids of Giza. There were never notes as to who was sending them, just the figurine in a plain brown box. His name and address were printed very neatly in an unrecognizable handwriting, none matching any other.</p><p>After the pyramids arrived models of the Taj Mahal followed by St Peters Cathedral then the Colosseum in Rome were sent. The most any box contained was a small Great Wall from China as well as a tiny scale replica of a terracotta warrior and a box of loose leaf black tea. The box from Japan held a beautiful dark haired geisha doll with blue-green eyes, high cheekbones and a fancy tin of Macha Green Tea. John left the teas in their shipping boxes, not trusting who sent them or where they came from. After all, he was not informed that Jim Moriarty had shot himself on the day Sherlock jumped.</p><p>The following week, John threw Mycroft and his minions out of 221B when they tried to remove Sherlock’s belongings. He helped Mrs. Hudson change the locks to the building that very afternoon. The post that day contained a small brass Buddha from Tibet, John sat in his chair and rubbed its belly until he calmed down.</p><p>The Sydney Opera House was exquisite in its detail. Its box also contained a small stuffed koala bear wearing a tan jumper. The small stuffed penguin toy from Madagascar was a surprise.</p><p>So far, the oddest content of any of the boxes was an extremely colorful full sized sombrero hat with a postmark from El Salvador. Looking closer at the hat John found one dark, curly hair under the inner band.</p><p>John felt as though his heart stopped when a postcard showing the Las Vegas strip arrived from America. On the back was written ‘Wish you were here’ in a very familiar scrawl that shouldn’t be, its owner having jumped off a roof a year to the date before. </p><p>Two weeks later a replica of the Golden Gate Bridge showed up along with a box of Ghirardelli chocolate, followed three weeks later by the Statue of Liberty.</p><p>A week later a replica of Manchu Pichu arrived followed a few days later by a replica of the Maya pyramid.</p><p>Almost a month later a small leaning tower of Pisa arrived. John noted his name on the address was almost illegible on this one, as though the sender was in a hurry to send if off. A week later a miniature of the Greek Parthenon arrived.</p><p>John wasn’t sure what he should do with his growing collection. Sherlock would know what to do, but even thinking that still hurt too much. As such, John kept the boxes and their packing materials and set up a small shrine on the upper landing on a side table. Each item on top of the box it arrived in, in the order they came, the sombrero on the coatrack next to the table. The only exception was the postcard from Las Vegas he now used as a bookmark.</p><p>The new assistant Sarah hired at work was relentless about pursuing John. She would not take no for an answer no matter how many times he turned down her advances. After the third week of John not saying a word to her when she insinuated herself next to him at lunch, Mary Morstan finally gave up and left him alone. John wasn’t sure if he should feel relived or not; he still felt too empty to really care.</p><p>There was an almost four week break between Greece and the miniature beer stein that arrived from Germany. A week later a lovely waterproof watch from Switzerland along with a bag of assorted chocolates arrived.</p><p>Two weeks later a package from Toledo, Spain held a tiny silver human skull on a keychain as well as a very sharp, folding pocket knife with a golden inlay of the sun on the handle.</p><p>John’s favorite item so far sent by his anonymous admirer was a wool jumper from Ireland. The hand knit sweater was in a lovely shade of blue in a similar pattern as his favorite oatmeal jumper his Mum made before she died. It and its box went on the table. He was not sure if it was safe to wear or not. John ran his hand over it every morning on his way into the kitchen to make tea though.</p><p>About a week after the jumper arrived from Ireland, John had yet another nightmare of Sherlock jumping off the roof of Bart’s. After waking, he recalled Sherlock’s words, ‘it’s only a trick’. He spent the rest of the night sitting on the stairs in his dressing gown staring at the table of gifts deep in thought until long after the sun came up.</p><p>The next parcel held a tiny replica of a violin, a miniature Stradivarius to be exact. John just stood staring at it in the entryway until Mrs. Hudson came back in from her shopping.</p><p>Seeing the look on his face she wondered, “Are you alright John dear?”</p><p>Folding the top of the box closed he stammered back, “Hmmm? Oh yes, I’m fine. Just… fine.” Before quickly escaping upstairs and locking the door to the flat to look at the package closer.</p><p>A week later a box arrived with a Jerusalem postmark containing a rosary as well as a Star of David.</p><p>The container filled with salt from the Dead Sea arrived two weeks later. John noted the address was rather rushed again, almost a recognizable scrawl. John stared at the writing on the box for a long time before breaking the seal to see what was inside.</p><p>John had a small flashback when he opened the box from Afghanistan that contained a large canning jar filled with sand. It smelled just like the base he was deployed to in Kandahar. The address on this box was the most illegible so far. The writing was hurried and smudged in several places with what looks like sporadic rain drops. John checked the past weather forecast for Afghanistan, there was no rain reported for the past two months. Odd.</p><p>The boxes stopped for an agonizing six weeks after the jar of sand.</p><p>John was relieved to see the replica of Big Ben in his hands. This package was different from the others as it contained a note, ‘Angelo’s, 7pm’, dated for that night in what could only be Sherlock’s scrawl.</p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Plot 26 - Dowry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alpha John Watson, Omega Sherlock Holmes, Holmes parents</p><p>ABO AU</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was tired, exhausted. It had been a long taxing day at the clinic. All he wanted to do was go home and relax, maybe have a nice cup of tea or two. His leg had been aching most of the day as well. It hadn’t had a twinge for several months and it was rather annoying having it back now.</p><p>He knew part of it was stress. He hadn’t seen more than Sherlock’s coat tails as he sailed down the stairs for several weeks now. God knows he’s tried texting to find out what was wrong, only getting an ‘I’m fine’ in reply.</p><p>He was frustrated at only reading ‘I’m fine’ as a text from his best friend. If they were even still friends. Did Sherlock even want him around anymore? John has been feeling rather lonely and confused of late.</p><p>Best not to dwell on it though, it’ll only lead to confusion. </p><p>Sherlock will let him know if he wants him to move out. Odds are John would find his bags packed in the entryway when he returned from work if that were the case.</p><p>Opening up the door to 221 John spots packed suitcases in the entryway. But those aren’t John’s bags, those are Sherlock’s…</p><p>Rushing up the stairs, he opens the door to their flat to find Sherlock sitting, looking rather forlorn, in his leather chair, knees pulled into his chest. Sherlock’s parents are on the couch, scowling at Sherlock.</p><p>At the door John wonders, “Sherlock? What’s going on?”</p><p>“I, I have to leave John.” Despondent.</p><p>“When are you coming back?” stepping further into the room.</p><p>“I’m not…” directed, quietly to the floor.</p><p>“Why? Have I done something?” John stops behind his red chair.</p><p>Angrily, Seiger Holmes yells out, “Yes you did!”</p><p>Violet Holmes furiously adds, “You’ve ruined our little boy!”</p><p>John looks to them, then Sherlock confused, “Sherlock, care to explain?”</p><p>Sinking more into himself in defeat, Sherlock lowly tells the floor again, “I’m pregnant.”</p><p>Leaning a hand against the back of his chair in shock, “Is... is it mine?” John stammers out.</p><p>Sherlock finally looks up at John, “Yes.” Defeated. </p><p>Frowning, “Then why are you going? You know I’ll always take care of you.”</p><p>“My, my parents…” waving a hand in their general direction.</p><p>“We’ve found him a mate. He’ll be forced bonded by the end of the week.” Seiger heatedly adds.</p><p>“NO! A forced bond from a foreign Alpha could abort the foetus.” John is angry himself now.</p><p>“Why would you care Dr. Watson? You didn’t bother to bond with Sherlock when you got him pregnant!” Seiger sneers back.</p><p>“AT HIS REQUEST!” John furiously roars, hands in the air, stepping away from his chair. Sherlock flinches, his parents are surprised by the outburst. “I would have gladly bonded with Sherlock but he didn’t want me to.”</p><p>“So you got him pregnant anyway.” Sherlock’s mother offers indignantly.</p><p>“Yeah, well it takes two.” John growls back at her. Seeing the shocked looks on Holmes parents faces, he adds. “We used contraception. Sherlock was on suppressants before and I had the morning after pill sent over from the clinic where I work. We took every precaution.”</p><p>“Well Sebastian is looking forward to bonding with Sherlock regardless. We’ve had to up the dowry as he’s soiled goods now.” Sherlock recoils at his father’s statement.</p><p>“I said no.” John ominously growls low. Stepping around, subconsciously guarding Sherlock from his parents. “That is my pup Sherlock is carrying, you have no claim to force a bond on him. I have first right of refusal.”</p><p>“You didn’t even know he was pregnant!” Violet declares.</p><p>Throwing his arms up in frustration again John heatedly reports, “I haven’t been in the same room as Sherlock for over a month! The last time we spent together was solving the Carruthers case. That was about a week after his Heat. He’s been avoiding me ever since, I thought I’d done something wrong!”</p><p>Turning to face Sherlock, “You shouldn’t have hidden this from me.” Stepping closer.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you wanted pups…”</p><p>Kneeling and taking one of Sherlock’s hands in both of his, “I want everything with you. I will gladly bond with you Sherlock, pups or no. I told you we needed to talk when your hormones weren’t raging. We had those cases for the week after, then you avoided me… all of this stress could have been avoided.” John assures.</p><p>“I didn’t want an Alpha telling me what to do. Not allowing me to work, forcing me to stay home and tend the house… keep me barefoot and pregnant.” The last bit spit out in frustration.</p><p>John calmly states, “You know me better than that. I would never make you stop your Work, I know how much you enjoy it.” </p><p>Sherlock raises an eyebrow at John.</p><p>Conceding with a small grin, “Well, maybe I’d want you to take easier cases while pregnant.” Then adds seriously, “Hell Sherlock, if it comes down to it, I’ll quit my job to stay home to tend house and raise our pups. I do most of the shopping, housework and cooking now as it is anyway.”</p><p>“You would do that for me? How did I not see that?” Surprised and confused.</p><p>“Because you’re an idiot.” John states fondly.</p><p>“Now wait just a minute! Sebastian Moran has already signed the contract to Bond with Sherlock….” Mr Holmes begins.</p>
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<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Plot 27 - Breathing Is Boring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, OMC, OFC</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dr. John H. Watson was examining his twelfth person of the morning, his part-time job at St. Bart’s A&amp;E department was a much better fit than working locum shifts at the clinics he was at before. Just as he was preparing to put his stethoscope buds in his ears his cell phone rings with Sherlock’s ringtone. He answers curious, Sherlock prefers to text…</p><p>“I’m sorry Mrs. Johnston, I have to get this… he usually texts.” As he steps outside of the exam curtain.</p><p>“Sherlock?”	</p><p>Coughing, “John” wheezing, another cough, “I did something stupid.” Cough.</p><p>“Sherlock? Are you alright?” walking quickly toward the front desk to excuse himself if need be.</p><p>Cough, cough, “I (cough) called emergency services (cough), told them (cough) to bring me (cough) to you…” A click and a thud can be heard along with laboured breathing.</p><p>“Sherlock?”</p><p>No answer. Sirens can be heard in the background.</p><p>John yells into the phone, “Sherlock, don’t you dare die on me! You hear me?” The nurses at the admitting desk jump and stare at the Doctor yelling into his phone and then at them. “Alright people listen up! There is an adult male with breathing problems on his way in, ETA TBD. I want a lung specialist down here ASAP.” Captain Watson orders out.</p><p>“Sir?” The nurse behind the desk asks.</p><p>“You’ll do as I say or you will answer to the British Government.” John informs her, still channelling his inner Captain, while dialling the man in question.</p><p>---</p><p>“He’s going to be alright Mycroft but I want him to spend the night in hospital just to be sure and to air the building out thoroughly.”</p><p>“Ah, and did my dear brother tell you what experiment went wrong to land him here?”</p><p>“He said he was cleaning.” Seeing the dubious expression on Mycroft’s face, John continues. “Yeah, I know, I know. Apparently, Sherlock poured bleach in the toilet then emptied his bladder and didn’t bother to flush. Said he had half the tub scrubbed down before he realized his error, flushed, and then turned on the exhaust fan. By then the chloramine fumes had already started to affect him. He called for an ambulance then me before collapsing downstairs at the front door after unlocking it.”</p><p>“Thank you, John. I have a spare room if you wish to use it for the night while your flat is aired out.”</p><p>Nodding, “No thanks, I’ll stay here with Sherlock, keep an eye on him and guard the staff. Mrs. Hudson could use a place to stay though.”</p><p>John had seen many looks on Mycroft’s face over the years but they were nothing compared to the one there now. Fear.</p>
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<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Prisoner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He awakens not knowing how he got where his is...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His body hurt all over as he came back to his senses. He tried to move to a more comfortable position to find that he could not. He doesn’t feel any clothing or other coverings on his body. His limbs are spread like a starfish. His fingers can just feel the edge of what can only be an uncovered mattress. Moving his hands up behind him he finds cool metal bars. A metal headboard or pipes secured to a wall? He probes his fingers between the bars as far as they can reach and feels nothing. Headboard.</p>
<p>He forces his eyes open to find they are covered. He see’s nothing but darkness.</p>
<p>His hearing blocked as well, he can feel something in each ear. He can only hear the sound of his own heartbeat. </p>
<p>All he can smell is menthol, there was an oily, greasy, feel above his upper lip. Vick’s VapoRub? He tries to test his theory with his tongue to find his mouth blocked by a ball shaped object. The ball is larger than a golf ball, but smaller than one used for tennis. He tries to push it out of his mouth with his tongue only to feel it’s fastenings on his neck and head. </p>
<p>So, no sight, sound, or smell. Now that he’s aware of it, he can taste only the rubber of the gag in his mouth.</p>
<p>That just leaves him touch. </p>
<p>Taking a deep breath of menthol scented air, he tries to relax, now is not the time to panic. </p>
<p>So far, the clues he has amassed are not raking up in his favour. Sherlock Holmes is in trouble.</p>
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